


A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by luvsanime02



Series: Spooktober 2019 [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Language, Spooktober 2019, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/pseuds/luvsanime02
Summary: It's not every day that Clint stumbles across a human sacrificial ritual. No, this is unusual, even for him.





	A Trail of Breadcrumbs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClaraxBarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/gifts).

> Written for ClaraxBarton! For the October 8th Spooktober prompt: practicing witchcraft.

**Disclaimer: **I don’t own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.

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**A Trail of Breadcrumbs** by luvsanime02

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For the record, Clint has no idea what he’s doing.

Not that this is precisely something new. Clint’s actually rather used to thinking up plans on the fly. It’s a necessity when living the life of a spy. If you can’t think on your feet, so to speak, you will die fast and messy.

So, Clint’s rather used to walking into a clusterfuck of a situation, assessing what’s going on at a glance, and then taking appropriate action. Clint is _ no__t_, however, used to walking in on what looks like a sacrificial ritual. Of a person.

Not that Clint’s seen any other sacrificial rituals to make a comparison, but he has no idea what else this could be when there’s someone tied and unconscious (and drugged, he assumes) to a stone slab, with others standing around that person while dressed in fancy-looking red robes that have hoods pulled low to cover their faces. Especially when they’re chanting.

There’s even a fire burning nearby, and two of the chanting people are holding bowls of water, and now that Clint’s given them a second look, yep, everyone’s standing in the pattern of a pentagram.

Clint pulls an arrow from the quiver, and surreptitiously scratches his arm with the sharp head to see if it hurts. It does, but that doesn’t really convince Clint that this isn’t a very odd dream.

Well, even if it is, Clint is hardly going to let a drugged person be used in a ritual against their will. At least, Clint assumes that it’s against their will, considering they’re drugged and tied up. Still, sometimes people are into some different shit. Well, if they really did consent, Clint will be sure to apologize when they wake up.

For now, he fires three arrows - not to hit anybody with, actually. Clint may be a spy and an assassin, but he’s perfectly capable of solving a weird situation without resorting to murder. Maybe. Possibly. 

So, he aims at both of the water bowls in the two people’s hands and sends another arrow at the hood of someone next to the fire, knocking them backwards into the edge of the flames. After that, everyone’s too busy stamping out the flames and shouting over the spilled water, and Clint casually steps into view.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he freely admits, “but how about we put the fire out and call this a day, okay?”

Everyone seems to freeze when he starts speaking, like they didn’t expect someone else to actually be there, despite the arrows appearing out of the dark and disrupting their ritual. Or maybe they’re just taken aback by Clint’s casual attitude. A lot of people are, so Clint doesn’t take it personally.

“It needs to burn!” one of them screams at him eventually. And what? No.

“No,” Clint says out loud, keeping his stance open and easy, his bow still in his hand, “they really don’t. People don’t need to burn unless they ask to be cremated, and something tells me this person didn’t ask. Right?”

He’s closer now, and the person is clearly a woman, young enough that she might still be a kid, and Clint swallows down his sudden surge of anger. It won’t help him here. He can get mad later.

No one else speaks for another minute, and Clint lets the uncomfortable silence sit. When he walks right up to the girl and leans over to cut her bindings, though, one of them tries to grab his arm. Clint shifts away, and then gives them a look. They shrink back, but start stammering an excuse.

“You can’t- you can’t do that! You can’t set it free. It needs to _ bur__n_, or it will destroy us all!”

Clint blinks in surprise and slowly raises an eyebrow. He looks back down at the girl, with her long, red hair and young face, and then back up at the frantic-looking person standing next to him.

“This girl doesn’t need to burn,” he repeats, emphasizing that she’s a person and not a thing. “She needs to get the hell away from people who _ want _ to burn her. I’m not going to let you-”

And that’s when someone tries to stick a knife in his back. Clint turns enough that it only grazes his forearm, and quickly disarms the person. He then notches another arrow. “Leave,” he says, cold now where before he was easy. “Get the hell away from here, and maybe I won’t kill all of you for attempting to kill me just now.”

He does end up having to kill two of them before the rest finally flee, cursing him as they run. Actual curses. Something about being plagued by the witch for all of his life, until everything he loves burns to ash. 

Whatever. Clint gathers that they think the girl is a witch, but he doesn’t care. He finally leans down and goes to cut her bindings, only to realize that the rope is made of metal. He wedges an arrow carefully next to her body and tugs, working on filing down one link until it comes apart.

Her eyes suddenly open once he gets the rope off of her, and there’s fire in them. Then there’s actual fire gathered in her hands and she looks around quickly, her gaze resting on the two bodies lying dead on the ground. Slowly, she turns back and very obviously assesses him.

Clint didn’t expect any of that, but okay. So what if she might be an actual witch? Kid still doesn’t deserve to be killed. “Hi,” he says, because Clint’s witty like that. “My name’s Clint.”

Her lips curve up into a small smile, and the fire disappears from her hands. Awesome, she’s not going to try and burn him to death. There’s been entirely too much fire tonight, in Clint’s opinion. 

“I know,” she says, and alright, that sounds ominous. “Nice to meet you, Clint Barton. I’m Wanda.”

Clint hadn’t told her his last name. Clint should probably be more freaked out about all of this than he is. There are deep red marks all over her skin from where the metal rope was touching her, though, and as soon as the fire disappears, she shivers from the chilly air, and she’s still just a kid - freaky fire and mind powers and all.

“Great,” Clint says. “Good. Okay. Can I offer you a ride back home, Wanda?” That’s what you’re supposed to do with lost and kidnapped kids, right? Take them back home.

Only Wanda shakes her head, her expression devastated and furious in equal measure. “Not without my brother,” she says. “They have him, too.”

Of course she has a brother. Of course there’s two of them.

Clint sighs but nods, and holds out a hand to help her stand up. “Well then,” he says, because what else is Clint going to say, “lead the way.”

Smiling, Wanda does so, and Clint sets off through the woods behind a witch, on the way to rescue another witch, likely, and he’s not even being paid for this.

Just another typical night for Clint, really.


End file.
